Murder at the Altar

by Veronica Heley

  Superimposed on the station came some more, smaller pictures. She didn’t know what she was supposed to do with them. She opened the manual and tried to find out.

  When she looked up again, the screen had altered to present a blue sky with some clouds on it. Cartoon-style biplanes zoomed across in slow motion. How they had got there, she couldn’t imagine.

  Further recourse to the manual left her mind in a whirl. And still the biplanes swooped. Then suddenly the screen went blank. She’d been at it for what seemed like hours, was no nearer to finding out how to run off the PCC notes, and felt in need of a strong cup of tea. She switched off the computer and attempted to recover her wits.

  Once fortified by tea, she decided to return to the study and sort out some bills to pay. She opened the front of Frank’s bureau, and nearly dropped her cup.

  Frank had inherited some valuable cufflinks and diamond studs from his father, which were kept in a leather case in the middle drawer of his bureau. It would have been more convenient to keep them in their bedroom, but the bureau – a cumbersome affair with many pigeonholes – had been one of the few items which Frank had managed to bring away from his old home, and it had come down to him with its contents intact. The bureau was where his father had kept his cufflinks, so that’s where Frank had continued to keep them.

  Only, the drawer in which they were kept was open. And empty. The key was still in the lock, but the leather case was gone.

  She’d been burgled, on top of everything else!

  3

  Ellie hadn’t seen any other sign that she’d been burgled, but the cufflinks were not there.

  She told herself not to panic. To think back.

  On the morning of the funeral there had been a phone call from one of Frank’s cousins, needing directions to the church. The main phone was in the hall, with an extension in the study. Stewart had taken the call in the hall, saying he would get Ellie to ring the woman back. Ellie had gone into the study to look up the cousin’s telephone number and make the call.

  Aunt Drusilla had been in the study, too, picking up and reading the messages on Frank’s get-well cards which had just been removed from the sitting-room. Ellie had supposed Aunt Drusilla was making notes to telephone anyone who had not sent a card, demanding to know why not.

  Ellie remembered that she’d sat down at the bureau, taken out the address book, phoned the cousin and replaced the address book in its pigeonhole.

  All the drawers had been shut when she last sat at the bureau. And the key? The key had been in the right-hand drawer, the one which held Frank’s gold pen and pencil, his cheque book, their passports, and so on. She would have noticed if it had not been in its usual place.

  She opened the right-hand drawer.

  The chequebook and passports were still there, but Frank’s gold pen and pencil had disappeared.

  It was too much. She supposed she must call the police and report the burglary, but … it was all so hopeless … what could they do? She had no idea when the precious things had gone.

  Since there were no other signs of breaking and entering, it must have been one of the people at the funeral who had taken the things. All Frank’s friends and relatives would have to be questioned. Including Aunt Drusilla.

  Ellie couldn’t help laughing at the thought of Aunt Drusilla being questioned by the police. Ellie’s money would be on the redoubtable old lady.

  A couple of generations back, the Quicke family had made a lot of money in whalebone corsets. Of course, you never mentioned the word ‘corsets’ to Aunt Drusilla, who would have preferred that the money had come from owning land or property. Privately, Ellie thought Aunt Drusilla was a walking advertisement for whalebone corsets herself.

  When old Mr Quicke died, he had left the corset business and large Victorian house to his son, while his money went to his only daughter Drusilla. ‘Young’ Mr Quicke – Frank’s father – had been no great businessman, the market in corsets had declined and by the time his only son had been born and his wife had died, he had been struggling to keep the business going.

  It must have seemed providential to the widower when his sister Drusilla offered to give up her own house and move in to look after her brother and his little boy. In time the corset business was sold and the proceeds invested in stocks which always seemed to go down and not up. Frank’s father lingered on, an ineffectual man in the shadow of his more forceful sister.

  Frank did eventually inherit the house when his father died, but Aunt Drusilla stayed on. As she said, where else was a poor old woman to go?

  How could Frank turn her out, when Aunt Drusilla had sacrificed her life to bring him up? The least he could do was to see that she was undisturbed in her old age.

  It went without saying that Aunt Drusilla had never liked Ellie. In turn, it had been difficult for Ellie not to imagine how much easier her early married life would have been if Aunt Drusilla had consented to move to a smaller place, so that the big house could have been sold. It was only after Frank got his first big promotion that life had become easier.

  Worse still, when Ellie married Frank, Aunt Drusilla had assumed that Ellie would be available for all sorts of jobs which she would not entrust to hired help. Ellie’s own mother had died a couple of years previously, so at first she had welcomed the opportunity to be of assistance to Frank’s aunt. Until, that is, she discovered that services rendered were rewarded with criticism, not thanks or praise. Ellie had persevered, knowing how much Frank loved and respected his aunt, but it had been hard going.

  Ellie put her head in her hands. She thought that Aunt Drusilla would have a field day when she heard of the loss of Frank’s belongings. Ellie could hear her now … ‘such carelessness!’ Why, she had even said loudly after the funeral that Ellie couldn’t have been looking after Frank properly, or he would never have died.

  Ellie felt her blood pressure rise at the thought of facing Aunt Drusilla’s displeasure. But it would have to be done, wouldn’t it?

  She tried to be practical. If she were going to ring the police she must first discover what else – if anything – was missing.

  Systematically she went through the house, checking. Frank’s computer still sat smugly on its mat. Drat it! She wouldn’t have grieved if that had gone missing! Her few bits and pieces of jewellery in the bedroom … the silver salver on the sideboard … the silver vase – with a wilted rose in it – on the glass cabinet … the canteen of good silver … the silver-framed photo of Diana and Stewart on their wedding day …

  The video was still there, and the television. Looking out of the window on to the street, Ellie averted her eyes from the space in the road where Frank had been accustomed to parking his car. Diana had driven away in it, when she and Stewart went back north again.

  Ellie had never learned to drive. Frank had always said she would be the sort of driver who signalled left and turned right. Of course, it was only right and proper that Diana should have the car when Ellie couldn’t drive, but …

  Diana might have asked nicely, instead of just assuming …

  Well, it seemed that nothing else was missing.

  Glancing distractedly out of the French windows, Ellie thought she saw the boy Tod going into the garden shed, then realized that she was mistaken.

  With an uncharacteristic surge of rage, Ellie told herself that she could guess where Frank’s precious things had gone. Tod was a magpie, ‘borrowing’ the odd cup here and the odd Biro there to furnish his ‘den’. If he’d ‘borrowed’ Frank’s things …!

  But, no! No, Tod would never take anything as good as that. Would he?

  While she hesitated, a large man in old but reasonably good clothes walked up the garden path next door. Ellie blinked.

  Another burglar?

  She put out her hand to telephone the police and then heard noises from beyond the party wall. One of her neighbours had returned. Not Kate. Armand, or some such fancy name.

  She checked the street from the front windo
w and saw that yes, his car was back. And another car was parked close up behind it. Very close.

  A second man was walking down the path and knocking on the door. Ellie recognized him. It was the senior policeman who had been summoned to take Mrs Dawes’ statement after she found Ferdy’s body. Ellie couldn’t remember his name. Inspector something. Mace? Brace? Middle-aged, hard faced.

  Presumably they’d come to talk to Kate, who wasn’t back yet.

  Well, I can catch them on their way out and tell them about the thefts, Ellie thought. Or would they be too senior to bother about such a trivial thing as burglary?

  In any case, if it were one of Frank’s relations who …

  Ellie rubbed her forehead. She couldn’t think straight.

  She decided to go out and clear the leaves off the lawn. Armand must have let the two policemen into the house, for there was no sign of either of them in the garden.

  She collected her rake and a garden bag from the shed – no sign of Tod, she’d speak to him later – and started work. The day was dull and unseasonably warm, the earth moist after the rain. The lawn could do with a good raking over, to get all the moss out. The lower part of the garden was always a little damp; perhaps some day she’d have a pond there.

  ‘… what the hell’s business it is of yours …’ a man was saying. Almost shouting.

  She started. Armand had thrown one half of his French windows open. She could see part of their living-room through the gaps in the dividing hedge, and hear very well indeed.

  Another voice murmured something.

  ‘Nonsense!’ Armand seemed angry. He was a foxy-looking man, not all that tall. He stepped out on to the patio and began wrenching a crust of bread into pieces and placing it on a bird table. Trying to ignore his visitors?

  Ellie couldn’t help overhearing. In fact, she found she was a little tired from all her exertions and sat down on the garden seat on her own patio to rest.

  ‘… because we have reason to believe that your wife knew the dead man very well indeed … school together …’ That wasn’t the inspector speaking, so it must be his sergeant. She didn’t know his name, either.

  ‘She knew lots of people. She was brought up around here, went to school here. I suppose she did know him. So what? So did lots of other people.’

  ‘I believe you haven’t been married very long …’

  ‘Six weeks to the day, if you must know.’

  ‘… yet your wife leaves you to go off for the weekend on her own?’

  ‘She arranged to go to this conference long before we got married.’

  ‘You expect her back … when?’

  ‘Tomorrow afternoon, early evening. Depends on the traffic.’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t go with her …’

  ‘What would I do at that sort of function? I’m a teacher, for heaven’s sake, not a financial whizz-kid.’

  ‘Your wife is a “financial whizz-kid”?’

  ‘An accountant, yes. Works on computers, mostly.’

  ‘A computer whizz-kid? Doing well?’

  ‘I suppose.’ Sulkily. ‘I don’t know anything about computers.’ He turned back to the house. ‘You should be asking her these questions, not me. And if that’s all … I’ve got a pile of marking to do and preparation for next week …’

  He picked up a broom that was leaning against the house and started to sweep the patio clear of leaves. He’s trying to find something to occupy his hands with, Ellie thought, something that means he doesn’t have to look at the policemen. He must be afraid of something, or he’d have told them to get out of his house.

  Evidently the inspector agreed with Ellie, for he now took up the questioning.

  ‘You’ve known your wife long?’

  ‘Just over a year. Why are you asking all these questions?’

  ‘How did you meet her?’

  ‘At a party. She came with a friend. We left together, have been together ever since.’

  ‘Was Ferdy Hanna at the party?’

  ‘Is that why you’re questioning me? Did I know Ferdy? No, I didn’t. As far as I know, I’ve never set eyes on him. And if that’s all …’

  ‘But your wife—‘

  ‘… then you can stuff it, and get the hell out of here …’

  ‘All we want to know is if—‘

  Armand threw down the broom with a clatter. ‘You want to know if my wife was having an affair with him and I’m telling you, No, of course not!’

  Startled, Ellie swivelled round in her seat and tried to peer through the hedge, but at that point the foliage was dense and she could see nothing either of Armand or the policemen.

  ‘Since you’ve raised the subject—’

  Armand swore and stamped back into the house. Ellie heard his feet scrape on the sill. The door banged to. Fortunately for Ellie, it creaked open again immediately. That door had always been difficult to shut. The previous owners had talked about replacing it but never got around to it.

  Ellie imagined Armand busying himself, getting papers out of a briefcase, perhaps. Laying them out on the table in preparation for marking.

  The door remained ajar but, maddeningly, the men inside had lowered their voices. After a while, though, Ellie could hear Armand’s voice in snatches, as if he were striding around the room. She shifted on her seat, trying to line up with a gap in the hedge.

  ‘… because she didn’t tell me about him till … and then I saw them together … but she lied to me, saying she hadn’t … you can’t believe anything women say …’

  The inspector – Mace? Stacy? Place? – came to stand by the door and look out over the garden. Ellie hardly dared to breathe but he didn’t notice her. He turned back into the room while leaning on the door frame, to say, ‘But you suspected that she was still seeing him, even after you got married?’

  A mumbled ‘Yes’.

  ‘And you did nothing about it?’

  Another mumble, the words indistinguishable.

  ‘So what you’re saying now is that in spite of everything you could do, she went on seeing Ferdy. What happened last Wednesday?’

  Silence.

  The inspector changed position slightly. ‘What time did you get home from school?’

  ‘I was late. There was a meeting. You don’t know what it’s like, being a teacher. You think we finish work at—‘

  ‘Just tell me what time you got home.’

  The voices were both clearer now.

  ‘About half five, I suppose. No sign of her. Obviously she was working late again. No supper ready, of course. Nothing in the fridge or the freezer. I had to go out and buy something in the Avenue. I don’t know how long I was. Twenty minutes, thirty? When I got back, she’d been and gone again.’

  ‘How do you know she’d been back to the house?’

  ‘Her car was out front, her big coat and laptop were in the hall. The lights were on, but she’d gone straight out again.’

  ‘To meet him, you think?’

  ‘I … don’t know! I just can’t …! Leave me alone!’

  ‘You think she went out again to meet him? By arrangement?’ Silence.

  ‘She wouldn’t have gone out again so quickly and without her big coat, if she were going far, would she? Perhaps he came and tapped on the window here, asked her to meet him at the church, where he’d parked his car. And then … what happened then?’

  Silence.

  ‘I suggest that there was a quarrel, that she hit him and he fell over backwards, hit his head on the kerb. When she realized what she’d done, she panicked, spotted that the church was open, dragged him in there and left him.’

  Armand sounded sulky. ‘I thought it was supposed to be a hit and run accident.’

  ‘He was killed by a single blow to the head, but not in front of the altar where he was found. Immediately after death, he was dragged to the altar and left there. Symbolic, don’t you think? His being left at the altar. She was going to marry him before you came along, wasn’t she?�
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  ‘No!’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  A long pause. ‘Leave me alone! You’re torturing me!’

  Silence. The policeman at the window shivered, turned round and pulled the French windows to, shutting himself in with Armand and his colleague.

  Ellie, too, shivered. The wind was getting up. She was stiff from sitting in an awkward position. Hastily she shovelled the leaves into a bag, dumped it at the back of the shed, and made her way up into the house for another cup of tea.

  By the time she had drunk her tea, the policemen had gone and she hadn’t done anything about the loss of Frank’s precious things. She lay back in her chair and put her feet up. Closing her eyes, she thought, I don’t care about Frank’s things. I don’t care about anything. I just wish the day would stop right here, and not get any worse.

  ** * The fat man reported from his mobile.

  ‘Yeah, all’s well. She went shopping, didn’t speak to anyone for long. The vicar came round later. I saw him in the window with her, him with his arm around her and all. The filth came round, but not to see her. To see her next-door neighbour. Yeah, it’s a right laugh. The buzz in the neighbourhood is that it was some old flame of his that killed him. Even better, the girl lives next door to the old biddy. The filth came round to see the girlfriend and saw the husband instead. I saw them in the garden at the back. They were there about an hour … the old biddy was in her garden next door all the time … eavesdropping, it looked like.’

  The phone quacked. ‘Nah, doesn’t look like she’s said nothing, or the filth would have been on to her. Maybe she’s just too dumb to realize what she saw …’